Bad Boy Biffy

Kill Bill(y)

Fading into a wave of unconsciousness, I whisper a single name...
Bad Boy.... Bad Boy Billy
And then I pass out, defeated by cocaine overdose and low blood sugar.

In the midst of a feverish sort of fantasy, my brain brings forth a single rather vivid image... A sinewy man of whom's face brings forth the sort of resemblance to that of a lioness, fades into my REM cycle conception.

"We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness"

A silhouette emerges triumphantly from the midst of the beast, and I recognize it instantly from the size of the widened midsection.

"Is that you, bad boy bil-"

"SILENCE!", he roars at me, his front paws meeting the solid rock ground.  A wave of awe washes over me, my stomach drops 10-fold, and it does a flip.

My eyes flutter and I awake to the scent of marijuana and burnt toast. Bad boy billy is having himself a breakfast buffet.

"Mornin' bitch", his lips curl above his teeth, revealing a patch of lettuce clinging to the swollen, infected gums on the front.

"Bad Boy Billy, I had a dream about you", I rub my forehead, recollecting what occurred in it by pieces.

"Nope. Don't wanna hear it no more!", he cups his hands over his ears, his toast falling onto the carpeted floor of his trailer. I watch as it flips and gets coated in lint and dog hair.

"Gawd-daymit I dropped mah toast!", he leans over and picks it up. Not wasting any time, he shoves it in his mouth in a similar fashion that a child might put a quarter in his piggy bank.

"NOM NOM NAWWM", he swallows it down, his adam's apple bopping up like a person in a lifevest halfway submerged in water.

"Bad boy billy, don't you waste no crumbs!", I sputter, encouragingly.

He licks his lips and smacks his legs like a drum. Cat hair and pieces of bread crumb fly off and fall to the ground like snow. I nod my head in meek approval.

"TIME TO TAKE A SPAWNGE BAWTH!", he sniffs the air like a dog, as if picking up on a certain scent.

"Want me to bust out the towel and bucket!!!?", I cry out, and eagerly beem.

He gives me no indication for an answer, except a grunt and a slam on the coffee table. His glass of vodka mixed with gin and cough syrup(Nightquil©)spills over on the table cloth, and he begins lapping it up with his tongue like a dog, making sure of doing a thorough job.

I head toward his small coffin-like bathroom and grab a small roll of toilet paper and the bucket of collected rain water.

"Grab my CIGS YOU DAMN BITCH!", He sputters, I hear his mouth gurgle with whatever he collected from the table cloth.

I reach for his menthols and he goes to town on them, swallowing two chewing on one.

"Bathe me, gawddammit!!!", he begins licking the table cloth again.

Grabbing the cloth, I smile, and begin to sponge bathe him